


My Rabble of Drabble - A Jeeves and Wooster Potpourri

by Darklady



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good folk at Indeed Sir have requested that all the past drabbles be posted to AO3.<br/>I will try to comply.<br/>SOME are related, but in general this is just a scattering of bits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Stable relationship

“WHY did your Aunt Dalia send you a horse?” Jeeves shot the animal in question a wary eye.

“Aunt Agatha,” Bertie answered.

“An answer fulfilling all the specifics of an explanation save actually explaining matters.”

Bertie took the correction in good humor. “Psychology. Seems some mental chappy told her that taking care of an animal – that being Sprinter here” - he gave the horse a gentle pat - “would cure my ‘inverted personality’ and make me emotionally ready for the leg-shackles.

“Really, sir?” Jeeves sounded unconvinced.

Bertie shrugged. “Seems he told her I needed to develop a long-term stable relationship.”

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(This and all chapters ©KKR 2014)


	2. Horsing around.

(Relates slightly to chapter 1)

 

“Might one inquire as to the source of Lady Agatha’s present rage?” Jeeves pressed his palm to the flat door. He had no need to close it, given the aged relation’s parting slam, but a bit of calming for the vibration could only be good for the planks.

“Dashed if I know.” Bertie looked thirstily at the brandy. Jeeves missed the hint. Deliberately, Bertie suspected.

“Seriously. She said she had heard I was horsing around. Asked if the rumor was true. I said yes, of course. Then?” Bertie pointed at the door. “Don’t know what she has against poor Sprinter.”


	3. A Strange Power

(This was for the 'unusual crossover' prompt.)

 

“I say, Cranston.” Bertram Wooster peered up from his periodical. “What’s with the oversized scarf? And that hat!” He hesitated to criticize a fellow clubman, especially when he was a visitor at the American branch, but Lamont’s togs were a bit beyond.

**“I AM THE SHADOW.”**

“Right-ho. Charades.” This explained – if not excused - the odd costume. Also why none of the other members took the slightest notice of the dark figure lurking in their dining room. He had worried that they were ignoring the man out of embarrassment at his outré antics. “Always time for party games.” Bertie himself preferred darts, or the old-fashioned card toss, but being (as mentioned) a guest he was more than eager to show willing and play along. “I’m topping at charades. Or trivia. Ask me a question.”

**“WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEARTS OF MEN?”**

Ah. Starting with the easy one. Bertie smiled. “That would be my man Jeeves. Fine grasp of the psychology of the individual, dontcha know?


	4. Confusion say:

“Sir? If we are not suspects?” Jeeves addressed the detective.

“We aren’t, are we? I mean, Mr. Chan…”

“No suspicion, Mr. Wooster. Wise proverb observes: “Man with two hands on piano has none left for gun.”

“If I can help?”

“Might humble policeman suggest gentleman retire to room?”

“Right. Jeeves?” You don’t mind if he comes with me, do you, Detective Chan? I just…well… I can’t do without him.”

“Quite understood.” Chan signaled the uniformed officers that Wooster and his man were free to go. “Worthy valet gets man dressed, but dearer still is valet who gets man undressed.”

 

*~@~@~*

_Another for the crossover prompt._

_FYI: Detective Charlie Chan of the Honolulu PD was the most popular movie detective of the 1920’s and 30’s, with more than 20 movies and almost as many stories as a Wodehouse character. The language may sound a bit odd by modern standards but the character himself was always viewed with utter respect and admiration by the officers whom he surpassed._

_I hope to someday write a full Bertie Wooster mystery solved by Detective Chan. ___


	5. The First Time with Jeeves

It has never been like this before.

Then again, it has never been Jeeves before.

There was the clever twist of fingers, up, around, letting the roundness swell under his attentions. Then the delicate downstroke, lightly tracing the length. Then the tug, sudden and unexpected, just pushing up to the point where the breath might catch, were the clutch would be too tight. Just up to the point, but not past. Stopping at perfection.

“Oh, Jeeves!” I gasped, overcome.

He gave one last flick of his fingers and I was done.

Yes, Jeeves did know how to tie a tie.

* * *   
_I didn't say the first time for **what** . Not my fault if you have a dirty mind._


	6. Giving Bertie the Bird

“Bertie. Meet our newest drone, the Duke of Ramfurleigh.”

Bertie looked over the handsome man with the oddly familiar name. “I say, your Grace, aren’t you the cage bird chappy?”

“Yes.” He flushed a bit under his collar. “I did tell Sir Roderick I was a canary.”

Bertie passed over the B and S. “Bit odd, but then the man insists that I’m a pansy.”

“Really?, the duke asked, interested.

Bertie grinned back. “Of course, the old chaps not all wrong.”

“Right-o.” Ramfurleigh tossed back the drink. ”Why don’t we step to the back room? I’d love to pollinate you.”


	7. Rossum's Universal Valet

I lie about how Jeeves arrived at my door. Truth? He arrived by mail.

Pater had been a sponsor of this science chappy. Tessie? Teapot? Whatever. Foreign sort with a yen for pigeons. The man needed some of the folding to carry out experiments, and he left one of his previous inventions as collateral. Babbage machine on legs.

When I was orphaned, things were boxed up. Forgotten until I ran into our old solicitor midway between Putney and Mortlake. He had the crate forwarded to my flat.

I opened the box, flipped a switch, and – there you have it. Jeeves.


	8. The Twig is Bent

[Warning for unhappy and underage. Edwardian child-rearing.]

 

“Hullo?” A male voice inquired.

Bertram Wooster huddled under the stairs, limbs tense as if some greater effort might shrink his shivering frame into even deeper shadow. No use. The black-suited man popped Bertie out like a cork from a particularly ill-fit bottle.

Dark eyes took in the ruin Eustace had made of Bertie’s coat.

The man frowned.

Bertie cringed. He knew he was in for a whipping.

“Come now, Master Bertram. No need for tears.” With a few swift strokes of a needle he had the buttons back, firm as ever. “See. All set to rights.”

And it was.

 

_Just a try at explaining Bertie’s valet fetish. ___


	9. Bertie Joins a Club.

"I say, Jeeves. This Scottish train is quite speedy. One hundred miles an hour!"

"Indeed, sir."

"I wonder what that's like?"

"Bumpy, I should suspect."

"There should be a club for chaps who go that fast. A 'Miles Fast Club' as it were.

"I believe there exists something similar, sir, although it involves height and is for a different activity."

"Really?"

"Yes sir." Jeeves whispered the details. "Might you care to join?"

"You think we could? I mean, could you work out the ... whatnots."

"I know a private pilot with a cabin plane."

"Jolly good then. Carry on, Jeeves."

 

_Clearly inspired by a historical event. Perhaps that was the prompt. ___


	10. Conscientious Objections

[One of many WWII drabbles. I think I love the angst. ]

 

“I should volunteer, Jeeves. Not that I’d like war, and it’s doubtful how much help I’d really be, but they’re asking…”

“No. sir.”

“They’ve written all the old Magdalene grads. Severe officer shortage, so the provost says. Says those of us still single should sign up.”

“No. Sir.”

“It’s not like I’d be heading to the front lines.”

“No.”

“This wars different. Its’ not like when you….”

Jeeves shut Bertie’s lips with a kiss.

“Dash it, Reg! There was a Wooster at the battle of Agincourt.”

“Should Henry the Fifth invade France again, you may join him with my blessings.”


	11. Thanksgiving 1

[ For a holiday prompt. Quite evidently.]

 

Bertram Wooster squeezed though the elevator door, ducking between the laden cooks of three separate neighbors. Each was a wider road block than the previous, being burdened with ever wider bundles of lumpy butcher paper.

“I say, Jeeves! What is with this flurry of birds?”

“Thanksgiving sir.” Jeeves answered, his broad shoulders opening a path to the door of their New York flat. “An American civic holiday, in which the turkey participates as a sort of holocaustum.”

Bertie blinked. “Dash rough on the foul, what?”

Jeeves shut the door against the clamor outside. “One might view it from that perspective.”


	12. Thanksgiving 2

[ 10 minutes after chapter 11 ]

 

“Not another ‘glad we’re quit of the Limey’s’ sort of holidays, is it?” Bertie didn’t think any of the cooks had been specifically aiming those elbows, but given past misfortune? It never hurt to check.

“No, sir, that is in June. This is a day when one contemplates one’s good fortune.”

“That covers me.” Even in his dim moments Bertie knew he had a double share of the world’s blessings. “But what about you Jeeves? Do you suffer with but a wing of the proverbial bird of paradise?”

“I, sir?” Jeeves leaned in for a kiss. “I have a feast.”


	13. Forgetful

[I believe the prompt ran along the lines of 'When does Jeeves forget something important'. *smile*]

 

“Thanks Bertie.” Charles Edward Biffen gathered his children. He managed – on third try – to locate the front door.

“No bother, old chum.” Bertie followed, counting to make sure none of the brood strayed between hall and lift. Really, Biffy’s memory was growing worse by the day.

When Bertie turned back, Jeeves was standing in the doorway. He had the most peculiar look.

“Something wrong?”

“Something forgotten.”

“Never, Jeeves. Absentminded may mark Biffy, but you are the very soul of knowingness.” Bertie closed the door to the world. 

Jeeves gathered his master close. “I had forgotten how very dear you are.”


	14. A Familiar Scheme

When Jeeves started – or rather the day after, given that on day one of our connection I was in no shape for conducting interviews – he answered that his deamon was a mouse. He declined to introduce me, insisting that Percy was timid.

Seemed a bit off for such a large man, but servant’s avatars do tend to be quiet creatures, so I took his word on the matter and let it go. Not preux to get overly familiar with another’s familiar and all that.

It was two years later, ‘mist one of our outrageous adventures, that I met the tiger.


	15. Jeeves, in the Parlor, with an Ax.

{Dark! Jeeves prompt. I believe an ax was specifically requested.]

 

"Jeeves! Ties are bad enough but disposing of my carpet?"

"Regretfully, sir, a domestic accident soiled it beyond hope of repair. With your permission, I will order another. Perhaps that red Chinese rug you spotted last week?"

"Really, Jeeves? You said it was too bright."

"I have reconsidered the matter. While a bit bold, red will be less inclined to show... inconvenient stains."

"Right then. As long as? You don't think Drusilla will be put off.”

"Your fiancée is unlikely to offer objection, sir. It is my understanding that she has left... London."

"Among the departed, you say?"

"Precisely, sir."


	16. Easter 1

[Another holiday prompt.]

 

“Good morning, love.” Bertie Wooster stumbled though the bedroom door, a tray wobbling before him. “Breakfast in bed.”

“Oh no.” Jeeves bolted upright. “I mean, you don’t need to do that. I’m quite happy to make breakfast.

“It’s Easter, and your day off, and I …”

“Have not ignited the kitchen, one hopes.”

“Not a spark.” Bertram spilled the china eggcup on the pillow. “Dismiss the disasters of a previous year."

“Or twenty.”

“Two, twenty. Tush! This year the eggs will be delicious.”

Jeeves touched the gold surface. Foil, not dye.

“These are… Cadbury?”

“Like I said, old chap. Delicious.”


	17. Familiar Attitudes

Funny thing about deamons, and how people judge people by what shape their deamon takes.

My deamon - Wilberforce - is a dog. You think that would please the relations. Aunt D has a hound. Runs with the hunt and everything. Loyal and honest. Aunt A also went canine. MacIntosh is a terrier and apparently that means scrappy and brave.

You think they’d have been happy for me when WIlby settled. They weren’t.

Wilby settled as a poodle. Curly haired, ginger, fourteen inches at the shoulder. Wagging tail and friendly bark. Good company.

But the Aunt’s call him mentally negligible.


	18. Toys

[Double drabble. Set perhaps in the 1960's or 70's. Prompt was 'toys'. I think.]

 

“Donate or dump?” Margaret Pinker-Travers asked, waving a pair of Steif toys in her father-in-laws direction.

“Neither!” Lamont Travers all but pounced. “God.” He clutched the dusty plush to his chest. “Those are by way of being family heirlooms.”

“Stuffed teddies?”

“Christening gifts to my patter from his uncle. Or Uncle and uncle-in-law, although they didn’t **say** back then.” He smoothed a well-chewed ear. “More the second, I’d guess. Trust Jeeves’ to find toys back in the war years.”

His face softened. Lamont was too young to have known the War, but family stories had constructed a sort of memory. 

“This is Bertie Bear.” He held out the blond poppet. One embroidered eye had frazzled, lending the bear a confused aspect, as if uncertain of the introduction.

Margret accepted the toy with care, twitching its bright pink tie back to a perfect bow.

“And this.” The senior Travers passed over the second toy, matching the first save for the black fur. One felt paw had been worked to bits by the child owner and repaired (badly) with amateur stitches of clashing red thread. The glass eyes, however, remained a brilliant, unclouded jet. “This fine specimen of bearhood is Roar-ginald Jeeves.


	19. Valet 1.0

[For the prompt “First” ]

 

“Uncle Cuthbert, I don’t quite think…”

“You never do, Bertie. Thus the need for someone to manage you.”

“I do say!”

“You mistake my words lad. Manage practicalities.” He shoved a cascade of sheet music off the divan. “You’re no longer in Magdalen, my boy. Mooching bed and board off Richard Little ill becomes a gentleman. Not now that you are in funds.”

“I’ll stay at my club.”

“No, lad, a flat and Meadowes here is my solution.”

He indicated a gray cutout of a man.

A valet? 

“Yes, Uncle.” I surrendered gracefully. How much bother could one servant be?


	20. Valet 1.1

“Moving out? There’s no need…”

“Sorry, Richard, dear chum, but the avuncular command is one this Wooster dare not disobey. Still, it shan’t be that bad.”

“Bad enough. I’ve seen that Meadows chap. He’s as cold a trout as any fish shop offering. I’d not want him under my roof.”

“Never said I wanted the chap. Cast that idea from the gray matter.”

“Then why live with him?”

“I could hardly move in with Ginger, now could I?"

“You might at least engage a pleasant valet.”

“No such thing living, I fear. Just interchangeable cogs within the Wooster-crushing valet machinery.”


	21. Valet 1.2

[ For the prompt 'Indulgance']

 

“Here, Tuppy.” Potter-Pirbright handed over a smallish glass of murky brown stuff. “A bit of something I picked up from a thespian friend. Chocolate liqueur – straight from Belgium.”

“Catsmeat, you wild thing.” Still, Tuppy took it.

They had staggered up the actors’ garret after a night of theatre and drinking. The second to make the first tolerable.

“Topping stuff. Try it, Bertie.” Tuppy passed the cup.

“Now that is a treat. Don’t get much ‘pleasures of the flesh’ these days.”

“Think you’d get more, what with your fancy new valet.”

“So you’d think, but Meadows doesn’t believe in indulgence.”


	22. The Birth of Jeeves 1

[Envision a valet rising from the below stairs, much like Venus but with a different approach to fish.]  
[VERY young Jeeves - something of a series.]  
[OH - and darkish.]

 

“Good luck, lad.” The cook plucked the book from his hands. “Lord Waldham’s agreed to keep you on as junior gardener.”

“A… gardener.”

“You’ve got the strength for it.”

He’d been hoping to continue on to high school, but his father’s death had destroyed that. Still, shouldn’t his studies at least have qualified him for indoor service?

She cut him off. “No backtalk, lad. Life is work. Learn that, and be content.”

Reginald plucked yesterday’s Times from the bin and patted the flattering reference he’d forged last night.

Gardener? Never!

He’d learned, all right. Learned to rely only on himself.


	23. The Birth of Jeeves 2

“Game?” The bunco at the bar ruffled a dog-eared deck in enticement. “We’re an honest lot.”

“Nothing better to do today.” Which, unlike the previous statement, was generally true. Reg knew he couldn’t get a decent job the way he stood now. He looked a regular Country Charlie. He also knew they intended to fleece him. Fortunately (for Reg) the first was less than true, and the second a total delusion.

“I’m in too,” a second man, mouse-faced and pale, did his (poor) best to imitate an honest tradesman.

He had a decent jacket.

By tonight Reg would own it.


	24. The Birth of Jeeves 3

“Your references are most impressive.”

They were indeed.

Lord Pelham, deceased. Sir Patrick Fotthering, fled before the constabulary and never to be heard from again. Mister Thomason moved to America to pursue the literary arts. (Even less likely to be heard from, if the screed salvaged from the publisher’s bin was considered. Still, the signed stationary was conveniently reusable.) And his early service at Mrs. Mendham’s School for Young Ladies? That was a stroke of genius. Explanation for both his education and his (nearly extinguished) northern accent – all in one neat package.

Reginald Jeeves nodded. “I try to give satisfaction.”


	25. Legacy

[Response to a picture posted on Indeed Sir. Someone actually spotted a Wooster food truck. Or so I remember - I could be off on details.]  
[ Double drabble. ]

 

"So, Mr. Wooster," The reporter began.

"Reginald, please. Mr. Wooster is my granduncle."

"Ok. Reginald, then. However did you get into the street food business?"

At the reporter’s signal, the cameraman paned the food truck. It was red, labeled with a giant W in white script.

"Well, I needed a job - music not paying as much as I wish it would. A friend suggested that since I can cook? " He shrugged. "Seemed like a good day job."

"I'd agree with your friend. This dish is delicious." The reporter turned the plate for better viewing.

"That would be our trademark Chicken Anatole."

"Wherever did you learn to make it?"

Reginald grinned. "Where Anatole learned it? I couldn't say. Might have been his own invention. But I learned to cook from Uncle Bertie's valet. Well, his husband now. The guy I'm named after."

"So Reginald Wooster - he's the Mr. Wooster you mentioned?" The reporter sounded delighted. Probably was. Human interest and all that.

"Reginald Jeeves - or just Jeeves if he's feeling snippy. And if you call him Lady Yaxley - well, that gets you the glare of death."

"Tough guy?"

"You have no idea - man. No idea."


	26. Valet 1.3

Jeeves canted an eyebrow as Meadowes hurried from the Junior Ganymede, a suitcase clutched white-knuckled in either hand.

“I fear our colleague has overstepped himself.”

“And ended overturned?” Such things happened, for all the club taught.

“He was collecting a stipend from Lord Yatley to ‘valet’ Mr. Wooster.”

Jeeves frowned. Such arrangements were common enough.

“He sold the same information to his gentleman’s aunts, an Uncle by marriage, and a trustee from Barkley’s bank.”

“Ambitious.”

“That last was ill-judged. His reports to the bank did not match Wooster’s withdrawals therefrom.”

“Wooster had him arrested?”

“Officially, fired for pilfering socks.”


	27. Valet 2.0

“Might you pass me the club book?”

Reginald Jeeves’ companion did so, but not without question.

“Mr. Wooster stands in need of a new valet.”

The club officer glanced at the open page – his expression uncertain. “I did not know you required a new employer.”

Jeeves grinned. “Pretty young poufs with large fortunes and small skills at managing the same are like chocolates – always enjoyable.”

“But the risk!”

“Triffling. The book notes this Wooster as mentally negligible.”

“This soon after his last loss? He’ll be watching.”

“I assure you I shall be strictly honest… in the matter of his socks.”


	28. 1939

“But Bertie, Madeline Basset whinged, “soldering seems so… grim.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Agatha snapped. “Bertram knows his duty to the family name. There were Woosters at Agincourt, you know.”

“But...” Aunt Dalia shook her head. “Bertie? Fighting?”

Her husband, Tom, glanced towards the wall. “What would you say, Jeeves?”

“Every man must do his duty,” Jeeves replied promptly.

“Well spoken, Mr. Jeeves.” Spode boomed, hearty as ever.

The sentiment was not false, or not false in whole. He had merely omitted the detail that Jeeves considered his first duty was to keep Bertram Wooster as far from the conflict as possible.


	29. Chapter 29

“The law passed, Jeeves.” Bertie Wooster aimed his hat at the hallstand with his usual accuracy. “Conscription for all single men between eighteen and forty-one.”

“And you are thirty-nine.” A statement, no more, yet in that fact dwelt a universe of unspoken emotion.

“I signed up today.” Bertram’s smile was thin, more courage than conviction. “I report Friday.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Jeeves whispered.

“One bright point. They won’t be taking you.”

Jeeves held out the letter, black printed letters noting his class Z discharge status, with the fainter typed lines specifying reporting date and “Sergeant Reginald Jeeves’. “They already have.”

*******

OK – so my timeline is probably dreadful. This is the Wooster Universe, which is a left turn away from reality.


	30. X + Y =

“Artillery, sir?” Jeeves did not sound so much dubious as… unhappy.

“Not that sort of artillery. Not me in mud shooting things.” Bertram quickly assured his man. "Just… setting up the range charts for the chaps that do shoot. I read maths, you know.”

In fact, Reginald Jeeves had not known. An oversight. He distantly recalled that his young master had graduated – but had somehow overlooked the connected reality that he must have thus studied. Something. Still, he would have thought… music. Or art. 

“You have me balance your checkbook.”

Bertram smiled, thin and sad. “Not that sort of maths.”


	31. Only Happy Memories

“My old uniform.” Bertram flicked the faded tunic. “I don’t suppose it still fits.”

“You were in the War, sir?”

Bertram produced a photo, a half grown lad in khaki.

“How did you endure?”

Bertram shrugged. “I don’t recall a single bad thing.”

“Really sir? I should think the trenches would trouble the sunniest disposition.”

“If you say so, Jeeves.

“I should rather think your service ribbons say so. You were at Passchendaele.”

“According to the aunts.”

“Sir?

“For my part?” Bertram grinned brightly. “I woke up in hospital. Before that? Like I say. I don’t recall a single thing.”


	32. Memento mori

[Because I am cruel and evil and wish to destroy all happiness. Triple drabble.]

“So what did your Great-Uncle do? I mean, back before you got called to sort all his bother.”

“Nothing.” Regina Wooster tossed the photo, two youngish men in oldish suits.

“Give over!”

“Seriously, William. Nothing. Nada. Zip.” She tossed another bundle of papers. “He did a little writing, but mostly? I’d say played the piano and drank himself to death, except you don’t make it to one hundred and three doing that. Really, if he had a profession at all it was hermit.” 

“Or packrat.” He scanned the room. Clearly housekeeping had vanished with the 40’s.

“That too. Man was hopeless, but he wouldn’t hire a maid.”

“Skint? Stingy?”

“Try starkers. Or eccentric, if you want to be posh about it.” She shook out another bin bag. “Grandfather said it was because of the war trauma.”

“He was in Vietnam?”

“God! Now we know why you aren’t the one reading history. The man was like … geriatric… before that even started. No, doofus, World War II.”

“He fought?”

“Not really. Not in any important way. I mean, you get the impression that almost everyone was involved somehow but… even then he was too old to actually *fight* fight. He did some math thing.”

“Codebreaker?”

“Nothing that cool.” She dumped out the next drawer, not bothering to sort the contents. “Anyway, he quit after his London place got bombed.”

“Was he hurt?”

“Not so much. Made it to one hundred and three, like I said.” She tossed out armfuls of sheet music. “I think some other man was killed. He was uncle’s cook or secretary or… I don’t know… maybe the elevator operator. Grandfather never got into those details. Why?”

“Nothing. I don’t suppose it matters, anyway.”

“Whatever happened, Bertie Wilberforce Wooster moved out here to the country and… he never left.”


	33. Learned Helplessness

“Quick! Hide the cups!” Bertie tossed his cooling brew onto a potted philodendron.

“What?” Clearly the command had discombobulated Angela. She was too slow to save the porcelain from pot-napping.

“I can’t make tea!” Bertie whispered, fierce and low.

“Bushwa!” Angela countered. “You made this pot.”

“I’m officially a goof in the kitchen… and if Jeeves ever hears otherwise?”

“Oh, hello Jeeves.” Angela sat straighter, one protective elbow guarding the hidden china. “Could you make us tea? I’m parched, and you know how Bertie is.”

Bertram smiled softly. “That’s why you’ll have to stay forever, Jeeves. Without you I’d starve.”


	34. Duet

“Are you quite sure it will fit, sir?”

“A bit tight, but you’ll get it in.”

“Without damage?”

“Trust me. I did this several times at school.”

“Never before with me.”

“Shift a bit to the left, Jeeves.”

“If you would stop wiggling I could get it in deeper.”

“I wouldn’t need to wiggle it if you would just push.”

“Lift your leg. Let me get closer.”

“Better. Much better. Now aim just a bit to the left.”

“Try and push back.”

“Oh… that’s grand.” Bertie smiled. “I knew that alcove would be the perfect fit for my new piano.”

* * *

What? Did you think they were doing something other than moving furniture? It is not my fault if you have a dirty mind. GRIN


	35. Ongoing Endeavor

** More silly crossover fun***

*******************************************

“You are sure you heard nothing?”

“With regret, Constable Morse, I did not.” He paused, a mime of civil consideration.

“And you, Lord Yaxley? You saw nothing?”

“What an impertinent question!”

“Yet your neighbor swears she spotted two men in your garden doing what I cannot repeat. The law requires we investigate.”

“If I’d spotted two chaps going at it like cats I’d doubtless have sent Jeeves here to handle matters.” He smiled. “Very competent man, my Jeeves.”

The valet bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir. You may be confident that I shall dispatch all future buggery with the same dedication.”


End file.
